why do you write like you need it to survive?

Private Multi-Muse RP Blog Character List. Written by River.

[womenwritten]

Currently pivoting to working on fanfiction so that I can have a more balanced creative process and flex other writing muscles. (May set up a personal blog for that? Not sure yet.) But if you're interested in reading any of it, shoot me a message or an ask or whatever and I'll give you my Ao3 username.

[womenwritten]

I may be considering making a return to tumblr rp with an Anna and Elsa dual muse blog.

[womenwritten]

@incrediblechange liked for a starter

Her hands slip into the warm confines of her coat. The air hasn’t yet turned intolerably bitter in the characteristic New York way, but she always gets a bit of a chill when she thinks back to her days as a surgeon and the unfortunate circumstances by which it had ended. “I know what it's like not to be lucky. It turned my life upside down.”

[womenwritten]

@falsefatale liked for a starter

When Katniss finally stirs, the world has gone dark, made doubly so by the blood that has pooled and congealed over her right eye, sticking her lashes together and binding them closed. Gritty asphalt, still clinging to the warmth that it had absorbed throughout the day, digs into her palms as she attempts to push herself up into a seated position. It’s a slow, painful process, and she can’t help but wince as a pair of broken ribs scream out in pain. “Why am I not dead? I should be dead.”

[womenwritten]

@wildtruths liked for a starter

Fingers tap against the hilt of her wand as she watches the man before her fiddle with something that probably ought not to be fiddled with. One never knows what kind of enchantments these sorts of things might carry, and it is usually best to leave such exploits to a member of the Order with a specialization in such things. However, she can’t help but begin to silently root for him, the corner of her mouth curling in faint amusement as she says, “It unscrews the other way.”

[womenwritten]

    If we haven’t written together yet (or haven’t had a thread in a long time) please LIKE this for a one para, lyric- or quote-based starter! Comment if you have a muse or a verse preference!

[melamemea]

This blog is accepting development anons!

Bug my character about their past! Ask them about the things you wonder about! Give them scenarios to get their brain going! Today is all about bringing out the growth hiding within my character.

[womenwritten]

Currently have 7 replies and 2 starters in my drafts. Not bad, especially considering that I started last week with months of unanswered backlog. 

[womenwritten]

thirtnth·:

that voice. it was not possible, was it? 

their paths were not meant to cross again, never again. River had left, River HAD DIED. The Doctor KNEW this and yet….yet here she was. the Doctor had been working on the mechanics underneath the console, faced away from the door when the door opened and that VOICE flooded in. the TARDIS instantly reacted, the humming beginning. the TARDIS is alive underneath the Doctor and the timelord is instantly slowly rising to her feet, grabbing at the console to steady herself. 

it was not possible. this had to be at trick. what sort of sick joke was this, and why did the TARDIS react so strongly to the other if it wasn’t River. It didn’t make sense and her brain scrambled to come up with a logical solution. 

but instead…instead she found herself staring at her wife. hearts beat faster, the splotchy blush takes over her face and the timelord scrambles to come up with something to say. 

“’ave no idea what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, River.” she responds quietly. Was this before Darillium? It had to be before. Had to be. River couldn’t escape a death that was already happened in the Doctors timeline. It was frankly impossible. 

“this was the TARDIS’ doing. Not mine. She liked this look, and so do I.” slowly, she makes her way towards River, stretching out a hand to touch her face, if only to ensure that she was real. River haunted her, the memory of her still flickering in, showing herself to her at odd moments. 

“You’re real. You’re here.” she breathes. 

Energy thrums through the air and River’s heart throbs against the confines her chest -- the TARDIS responding to her and her answer back, like drawing to like in the way that it always has. The sheer force of that bond almost drowns out the Doctor, and it takes her a moment to sort through the noise and focus her gaze. Amused surprise settles into the lines around her eyes and tugs at the corners of her mouth as her eyes settle upon a face that is at once familiar and unfamiliar. The features are new, but the expressions are the same, as are those eyes that she never fails to lose herself in and that little blush that never fails to charm her into taking a step forward and casually trailing fingers through layered hair with pointed interest. Some things never change, and the Doctor has always made high-maintenance hairstyle decisions. Probably to compensate for the coloring that has always eluded them.  “Seems like she’s not the only one who’s redecorated,” she comments, impish mischief sparkling in her eyes. She takes a step back, tongue braced between her teeth as she scans the Time Lord first up then down then up again. “How new is this to you?” The sparkle fades somewhat at the Doctor’s comment, fear of an uncertain future swelling in her chest and overwhelming the joy of the presence. However, she shoves it aside, as she always does, and forces the smile back to the surface.               One must always hide the damage.      “Of course I’m here. Where else would I go when things get dull?”

[womenwritten]

prcsopa·:

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐇𝐄’𝐒  𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐈𝐒  𝐀  𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃   ,  there  are  thoughts  ricocheting  in  mulder’s  head  that  it  feels  as  if  a  game  of  block  breaker  is  being  played  within  his  skull  .  it’s  non  stop  and  demanding  ,  every  inkling  of  uncertainty  rests  at  a  dangerously  discomforting  level  that  to  say  the  words  feels  as  if  it’s  the  only  way  to  release  the  ache  .  the  truth  is  ,  this  is  how  the  obsession  all  those  years  ago  had  felt  .  his  sister  having  been  taken  ,  the  x  files  —-  piles  of  paper  at  the  height  of  the  door  ,  this  was  how  it  started  .  

two  fingers  pinch  the  bridge  of  his  nose  ,  elbows  creating  mild  indents  upon  his  knees  —  there  is  something  to  be  said  here  ,  something  a  little  more  dangerous  than  a  typical  let’s  get  ‘em  gang  and  scooby  doo  like  mentality  ,  no  .  this  is  something  that  he  feels  in  his  gut  ,  not  his  imagination  .  from  the  depth  of  his  heart  he  can  feel  the  constricting  valves  attempt  to  choke  him  out  but  he  remains  steady  in  his  ideals  .  always  the  mulder  way  ,  after  all  .  

❛        just  —  you  know  ,  bare  with  me  for  a  second  scull  ,    ❜  a  tired  pleading  tone  has  taken  over  ,  he’s  not  quite  finished  —-  not  yet  anyway  .  not  when  there’s  still  so  much  more  to  go  through  ,  so  much  more  to  say  

yet  ,  there  she  was  ,  the  logical  one  beside  what  many  would  refer  to  as  his  madness  ,  leveling  him  where  so  many  others  had  tried  time  and  time  again  ,  only  to  fail  in  the  end  .  ❛   yeah  ,  i  mean  —  it’s  just  ,  i’m  afraid  of  what  could  happen  to  this  guy  overnight  ,  you  know  ?  how  many  times  have  they  gotten  to  people  in  the  jailes  ,  you  know  ?  here  we  are  sitting  around  just  waiting  for  the  sun  to  rise  and  he’s  …..        ❜    an  unsteady  pause  ,  his  throat  clears  out  the  lump  that  filled  from  his  own  regret  ,  ❛  i’m  just  …  i  don’t  even  know  anymore  .   ❜

there’s  another  question  that  sits  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue  ,  and  it  takes  an  extended  minute  to  decide  if  he  wants  to  ask  but  before  he  does  so  ,  mulder’s  eyes  fall  shut  his  back  straightens  enough  to  enable  the  rolling  cracks  that  age  has  given  him  and  he  sighs  .  ❛   what  do  you  think  we  have  waiting  for    us  at  the  end  ,  scully  ?      i  mean  ,  what  could  our  future  possibly  hold  ?      ❜            

A hand finds her face, stifling a yawn and slowly rubbing the remaining sleep out of her eyes so that she might be able to see him a bit better, read whatever quiet thoughts might be scribed into the lines on his face and haunting the depths of his gaze. Despite a noticeable squint and an intense study, she comes away with little in the way of tangible evidence, and is instead forced to ask yet another question. “Is this really about the case, Mulder, or is something else on your mind?” She could understand if he is feeling trapped in their current situation. Few people have reclaimed the glory of their youth by tiredly going through the motions of their former lives. The X-Files lacks the excitement that it used to, when the truth was veiled behind theories and secrecy, instead of easily accessible by anyone with a smartphone and enough common sense to know what questions to google. Hunting for monsters and solving cold cases is an activity better undertaken by amateur sleuths on reddit, not aging F.B.I. agents still cross-referencing a dusty pile of manila folders. They are both in their depth and horribly, desperately outside of it. It is enough to make anyone feel a bit out-of-sorts. Especially beneath the suffocating weight of these inhumane and uninhabitable hours of the morning. A sigh puffs out her cheeks as she turns her eyes towards the ceiling, turning over a series of answers in her mind. She could tell him what he wants to hear, or the truth that has slowly been tearing her apart for years, or distract from the question entirely with a bit of sharp sarcasm. None of the possibilities feel quite right, and none of them will bring back the sleep that she’s already lost.  There’s a long moment of thoughtful silence before she looks at him again, compassion creeping into her blue gaze.  “I suppose that it depends on the paths we choose to walk. I’m not going to pretend to know in what direction your feet might carry you.” She had thought, for a time, that they would walk arm-in-arm through these long years, but life has clearly had other plans. Even now, she can’t quite be sure if they stand at a crossroads or if their roads are once again converging. Neither of them are the same people that they had been during their first foray into this line of work, nor does she expect that they will remain untouched by their current work as time wears on. 

[womenwritten]

wasgentle·:

         the delight on their visitor’s face clears some last remaining shred of worry from her heart - - - that this visit would not go well, that diplomatic relations between the mainland of narnia and the isles would only gain in complexity. but their new guest is smiling already, and something in susan’s heart eases. 

         she has heard only little of feyre archeron from the letters exchanged between cair paravel and tamlin. the rest she has heard in strange rumors that have come to reach even narnia. 

        “welcome to narnia, lady feyre,” she says, extending her hands to the visiting lady as she dips down into a curtsy. “i hope that your journey here was pleasant?” (beneath the dock, beneath the rippling water, faces have begun to appear - - - merpeople, drawn by the activity.) “we have had chambers prepared for you, looking out on the sea. but if you would prefer a view of the gardens instead, it can be easily arranged. would you like to go and see them?” 

The weather was kind to us, Your Grace.” The smile lingers, as dazzling as the sunlit sea that had carried her here, though Feyre would not look as kindly upon it as an outsider. Her mouth reminds her of the mother who had ignored her, and her movements of the father who had neglected her family so badly that they had slipped into ruin. Though death and distance have pulled her apart from them, there is a stubborn part of her heart that will never forget and never forgive the hardship that had raised her.  Though kind hands are extended towards her, she does not take them. Fear flickers in her eyes at the memories of recent pain and struggle, causing her expression to waver. She has recoiled from contact ever since she had played her part in the liberation of the Isles. Not even her betrothed had dared brush against exposed skin without checking first to see if ghosts lurked in the lines of her face and the depths of her eyes. She takes a half-step backwards before she catches herself, masking the moment of uncertainty with a cool compliment. “I have heard much of the gardens here.”  It is not enough to fully free her from the tenacious grip of the past, but it distracts from it, and sometimes that is enough. 

[womenwritten]

@deincs sent: “don’t touch me!” (yo from janet @ deincs @ the doctor because snapping at professors is a great idea, yeah?) “Don’t” Sentence Starters

Worry settles upon her brow as she jumps backwards, one hand settling behind her head as the other simply hovers in the air in a panicked gesture of innocence. She had only been trying to help; she hadn’t meant to make anyone feel violate or worsen any pain. “I won’t. I won’t,” she says, taking a hesitant and unsteady half-step forward. “Just let me help. Please.” She has never been one to hang back and keep to herself in a time of need, even when that help is unwanted. 

[womenwritten]

ignietsanguine·:

“your grace.” daenerys smiled softly as she watched sansa approach. she hadn’t been back at winterfell since they defeated the night king. a lot had happened since then: cersei was dead, she had reclaimed her family’s throne and the north had been granted its independence. now that westeros had been pacified, daenerys wanted to get to know her lands and her people. first stop: her newest and most important ally. hopefully, she found a friend in the new queen in the north. “it is good to see you again.”

starter call / @womenwritten

Sansa’s gaze flits towards the top of the gate as she waits for Daenerys Targaryen, watching the way that the icicles slowly shrink away from the touch of the midday sun. There is still a chill in the air that surrounds Winterfell, though its bitterness has slowly tempered since the war had ended. It will be long before summer graces their lands again, but its touch has not been as dreadful as previously feared. Her people will survive until then, as they must.  A soft, polite smile slips across her lips as the Targaryen contingency enters the courtyard. Week old snow crunches beneath her boots as she takes a step forward, out of the shadow of her Queensguard, and says, “The pleasure is ours, Your Grace.” She is not quite sure whether she means those words. Newly founded peace is a delicate thing, and it takes some time to settle into newfound rules within reformed power structure. She does not pretend to know what the other woman’s expectations for this visit might entail, nor what thoughts might be flitting behind those violet eyes. 

[womenwritten]

wolvencrown·:

@womenwritten hit the  ❤  for a starter

           when sansa left with arya and their father for south robb had no way of knowing it would be as bad as it was. from the raven to the war to the moment he stood there worse for wear in ways that were both psychical and emotional. the wounds would never heal even if he had not died as the frey, bolton, and lannister desired for them. jeyne was gone. a woman after his own heart who was lost in retaliation for his death failing. he could dwell on about how he lost his wife, his mother, his men and woman around him, but as he saw his sister all he could do was breathe a sigh of relief. he fear she hated him. perhaps she did. she had every right to. he could not find it within him to dwell upon it as he took a step forth. she grew as much as he said.  “sansa.”   he said, unsure of what to do. hug her was likely the right answer.  only he was not the perfect example of how to do the right thing.  “— i am sorry.” for the war, for failing, for their mother, for everything. 

Fear, relief, and sadness roil within the all-too-hollow confines of her chest, shaken together so thoroughly that she cannot even begin to distinguish one emotion from the others. During the journey here, she had assumed that she would meet him with a broad smile and arms thrown over his shoulders in a desperate embrace that spoke to the sheer weight of her loneliness and isolation, but now, she can only take a nervous step forward, offering up the smallest smile and a few soft words of reassurance. “You do not need to apologize for anything.” Other people had done this. Other people had brought violence and hatred down upon their family. Other people had kept her captive and fought to crush her spirit. Robb had not started the war, why should he be asked to atone for it? 

[oldmemesandhelpandthings-gone]

“Don’t” Sentence Starters

Change word choice, punctuation, and pronouns, or add any additional context as-needed.

“don’t!”

“don’t tell anyone.”

“don’t laugh.”

“don’t cry.”

“don’t worry.”

“don’t think about that.”

“don’t hide!”

“don’t eat that!”

“don’t drink that!”

“don’t shoot!”

“don’t talk to them like that!”

“don’t make excuses!”

“don’t flatter yourself!”

“don’t say a word!”

“don’t go near them!”

“don’t lie!”

“don’t use it!”

“don’t get too close!”

“don’t talk!”

“don’t say that!”

“don’t leave!”

“don’t go there!”

“don’t touch that!”

“don’t touch me!”

+ add your own!

[womenwritten]

inbooks·:

(:: E ┼ P ::) 

                His eyes narrowed at the sound of limited idea, because he was entirely far smarter than she made him sound;  &  yet he remained silent.  What he had wanted was information,  &  how many times had he had to remain silent in the face of supporters of the Witch as they spouted insults at him in hopes of breaking him so he’d forget about getting any more information from them?  He’s HONESTLY lost count.  So it was not difficult for him to simply walk almost beside her as if his words hadn’t partly offended him whilst   m a k i n g   n o t e  of every single thing she said. 

                Granted, when she said box, the only thing the young King could think of was the familiarity of a cardboard box where he’d put books or clothes for safe keeping,  &  for a moment he felt as if he were about to jump on a magic carpet  &  fly to Kent like one of those stories he’d read in that Arabian nights book;  &  truly, he’d only just been about to ask for more information when the familiarity of a police box he had never before seen in the grounds of the school came into sight.  Suddenly he felt that she was not ENTIRELY wrong to have used the words ‘limited idea’ when it came to him; his arms uncrossed  &  fell to his sides with a rather shocked disposition, because even though he was small, the police box seemed like   t o o   l i t t l e   a space to travel,  &  yet… 

                Was that machinery he had seen within the smallest glance allowed when she stepped inside? 

                He’d barely heard her words,  &  definitely paid no heed to them, before he started following behind her into the more than unconventional ship he had not even imagined; unlike the time he had gone into the wardrobe for the first time, though, his heart beat WILDLY within his chest in expectation of something inexplicable as he stepped through the blue doors, hoping for the magic he was  f a m i l i a r  with, wishing for every single thing that would make returning to Narnia possible,  &  bracing himself for any sort of disappointment that could break his heart.  

                First it was the lights, brighter than any inside the school  &  definitely stronger;  &  then it was everything else inside the enormous ship that settled into his mind as the little doors closed behind him.  There were stairs, there was that giant piece of machinery he didn’t understand that he had gotten a small glimpse of before, there were chairs, hallways that surely led SOMEWHERE other than a wall,  &  as he stepped along the small hallway away from the door, the true size of everything around him wrapped him within the  f a m i l i a r i t y  of the lack of logic of what a small object could hold inside. 

               Indeed, unlike the first time he had stepped through the wardrobe, Edmund Pevensie fully  &  completely smiled,      “ It’s just like with Narnia, ”      he said, turning on his step regardless of how he continued walking in the direction of the blonde woman he suddenly held dearer than any stranger since he had met his wife; because suddenly, as the enormity of the ship’s interior befell him, he BELIEVED every single thing she had told him  &  even trusted that she would be able to take him back home at once.  Perhaps he hadn’t believed before, but by Aslan, he  h a d  to hold onto the nearest rail because looking up  &  around him was making him dizzy,  &  still, he couldn’t help his smile, 

                “ Is this another land? ”      He asked then, turning to look at her regardless of the enormous joy  &  hope that surely showed in his expression,      “ I mean, I know you said it’s your ship, but… I want to know how it works. ”      He began to climb the stairs so he could actually stand beside her, curious as much as happy for the first time in what felt like entirely too long,      “ Because… when I stepped into the wardrobe, it was MUCH bigger inside, too, but it was a whole land, ”      he paused,      “ A whole world, really; Narnia’s only a country,  &  there are many others around it,  &  oceans,  &  stuff we didn’t even have time to  m a p  before we left.  So, is it the same here?  Do you just… travel with your whole world around you, or is this some other sort of magic?  How big is this place? ” 

                &  just like that, the endless questions had begun.

-[ ◘ ]-

The Doctor does her best to give the boy a bit of privacy while he runs through the familiar checklist of realizations -- or as much privacy as one can manage while still being in the same room -- busying herself with a readout and a couple buttons that don’t do anything useful. Every few seconds, she steals a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, just to make sure that he’s still standing ... and not messing with anything fragile. She doubts he’d manage to do any real damage, but you can never tell with people, especially when they find portals in wardrobes and are much older than they seem. After all, she’s a good bit older than she looks, too, and she can break anything if she’s given enough time. Broke the entire universe once. That was a bad day.  Even when he starts asking questions, she still keeps the majority of her focus on the TARDIS itself. “It’s kind of a land,” she replies, wrinkling her nose and looking up at the ceiling. “It’s not on land, exactly, but there’s a floor, and gravity orientation, and no oceans to speak of,” her voice trails off as she wanders further and further away from the point, brow furrowing as she catches herself thinking more and more about the logistics of putting an entire world, with an independent notion of time, in a single piece of furniture. A few explanations come to mind, all equally plausible and implausible at the same time, but she’s not going to be able to know for certain until she steps into that world herself.                     If she can actually manage to get them there.  “Transdimensional engineering. You fold a bigger space into a smaller space. Bit complicated, way past your time.” She’s tried to explain it before, with boxes and metaphors and a dozen other things that make sense to Time Lords, but humans never really seem to grasp it, probably because they’ve never done it. She understands. She couldn’t latch onto anything theoretical while she was a student at the Academy. It was only when she stole a TARDIS and began gallivanting across the universe that she really began to pick up on things and retain information in the way that had seemed natural to everyone else in her classmates. It had been too late to help her pass her exams, but it helps her through life, and as far as she’s concerned, that’s far more important.  “Now that that’s settled,” she starts, fully aware that it takes much, much longer for people to shake themselves free from the shock of seeing the inside of the TARDIS for the first time, "Best that you can, can you tell me where the house with the wardrobe is? Or who owned it. I can do a reverse address lookup from there, if I need to.”  Not that she wants to. She doesn’t like getting bogged down in the details. Better to just point the ship in the generally right direction and hope. 

[womenwritten]

stagnantsaints·:

@womenwritten subscribed to will graham.

❛ you wouldn’t believe me if i told you. ❜ although these days , that is the only sentence he believes in. it’s difficult to make eye contact anymore , knowing what he might see there if he dares to look. the pity , the doubt , the concern. even people who knew nothing about him looked at him as though he needed saving , as if something about him screams DISTRESS. and maybe it does. the point is that he’s on borrowed time , and no matter how far from home he runs , something always manages to catch up. ❛ and trust me , i’m not exaggerating. i’ve told the story enough times. ❜

Watson leans back ever so slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. Though she understands why people prefer to tiptoe around ridiculous stories -- after all, it is difficult to have your pain dismissed over and over again --  the phenomenon is incredibly inconvenient to people in her line of work. She needs the truth, all of it, no matter how absurd it might sound.  She stretches out one leg invisibly beneath the table, pressing all of her frustration into the linoleum tile with the heel of her shoe, hoping to dispel that tension before it reaches her face.                “Try me.”